


Without you.

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Best Friends, Champions League, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Goalies, Hurt/Comfort, La decimotercera, M/M, Serious Injuries, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 15:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14835254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How Marcelo goes through his first CL final without his best friend.





	Without you.

**Author's Note:**

> So when I watched the Liverpool game, I was realizing that it was our first final without Pepe and that made me miss him sooo much. I can only imagine how Marcelo felt at that time. He's always been his best friend. So I just wanted to write a piece about that. I'm obviously making this up as I go, without any real plan as usual. 
> 
> Luka and Marcelo are a real couple here, there's no Enzo or Ivano and Ema. No wives either.  
> I just wanted to write something about Pepe and Marcelo's friendship.

_May 26th, 2018._

 

 

 

A football game was mostly defined by a number of special moments. The moment the first goal got scored, the moment a fight broke out between players or the moment when your team suffered a horrible injury. People remembered those moments.  
All the things that happen in between mostly get lost in the foray of it all. No one remembered that ordinary pass one player gave to the other, no instead they knew exactly in which minute their favourite player scored that magical goal. That time when one of their players got a red card. Those are the moments that truly make a football game. That people still recall years later.  
Tonight was just another great example of one of those games.

Marcelo had been real anxious beforehand, knowing damn well that they were the top dog in this game and therefore had everything to lose. Not that Liverpool was that much worse than they were because they were also an amazing team, but mostly because they had so much experience playing a final that it almost felt weak if they threw it all away.

Winning finals was what they excelled at for the past couple of years and they knew they had to use that to their advantage. He knew that Liverpool probably wasn't counting on beating them. They weren't fools. Of course Real had stronger cards on paper.

But Marcelo couldn't shake that bad feeling about the game, he barely slept the night before, not even Luka could calm him down.  
Knowing that he was charged with babysitting Salah for the night had him super on edge.  
Marcelo knew he was strong offensively but that he lacked defensive skills. He also wasn't as fast as he had been years ago, so if he lost the ball to Salah on the midfield he would never make it back in time, realizing full well how quick Salah was. Sergio would have to have his back, more than ever. Which put him at risk for yellow and red cards.

Something about this final just felt off to Marcelo, although he couldn't put his finger on what it was exactly. He was feeling a bit strange. Lonely. Luka noticed, of course, he asked him about it twice and then decided to let it go. Realizing that Marcelo didn't know what the problem was himself. So Luka held onto him during the night but kept a mild distance from him.  
When they sat in the dressing room before the game, listening to Zizou's tactics Luka collected his hand into his own. It was cold, as it always was, but soothing. ''We got this,'' he reassured him. His amber coloured eyes calm and laced with love. ''I got you,''

Marcelo smiled at him. Suddenly memories of the Decima were coming back to him. It seemed like a lifetime ago when they had won it. Like centuries had passed since.  
He saw himself standing in Iker's arms at the middle of the field, bawling his eyes out after his goal.  
He remembered Sergio's header that had saved them all, Gareth, Cris and his own goal. Marcelo heard Zizou screaming that he was a monster as he cried in his arms after the final whistle. He saw drunk Luka dancing around on the bus like a lunatic while Fabio anxiously trying to keep him from falling off of it. Iker that could not stop kissing and thanking Sergio for saving his ass.

He was super proud of all the Champions Leagues that they had won over the past 4 years, but the first one had truly been the most _special_. Probably because everyone had waited so long to get it. The release that had gone through all the Madridista's hearts after the whistle had been incredible. It could never be rivalled by another title.

Now that they won basically _every_ final they played it somehow became less special. Almost generic. And yes he realized precisely how spoiled and arrogant that sounded. Especially because so many teams dreamt of winning even one Champions League but would never see that dream fulfilled.  
But then again, Madridista's had always been a little spoiled. They always expected to win. And honestly, with guys like Cris in your team, those chances did improve tremendously. Cris didn't know how to fail.

Marcelo shot a silent prayer up to whatever God was listening for them to win again. They had to.  
It would mean Zizou's ending if they didn't, seeing how losing it would mean that they only won the Club World Cup and let's be honest: not many people cared about that price, it was a nice extra but not a serious trophy.

Marcelo was certain that they would see Zizou fired if they lost tonight. Being a manager at this team entailed that you were obligated to win prices. That was the most important thing at the end of the day. They had failed miserably in the Liga and therefore had put all their eggs in one basket: the CL. Thus only increasing the pressure everyone was feeling right now.

No one wanted to see Zizou go and yet Marcelo had a gnawing feeling that they would lose him regardless of the result tonight. Zizou had always stated that he wasn't sure if he wanted to extend his contract.  
However, Marcelo felt like he had to. Zizou had turned them into a true family. Everyone was clicking, everyone got along. They had never been so close. Marcelo had been playing for Real for a very long time but not ever had he felt so connected to everyone around him.

Marcelo saw the nerves in the eyes of his teammates. Even Cris, who always appeared confident was looking wavering. Sergio was trying to feign assurance but Marcelo knew better. He had been on the phone with Iker all afternoon, rambling his nerves away. Iker's ears must have been bleeding afterwards. Marcelo gazed at Dani who sat to his left, _brave_ selfless Dani and saw him chewing on his lower lip anxiously.  
He curled his arm around his shoulder and pulled him closer to his side. ''Don't think too much, it will all be cool. Relax,'' he assured him. He pecked the top of Dani's head and nudged his cheek with his thumb as he winked at him. ''Okay?''

Dani nodded stiff, unable to reply. He could get very withdrawn before games like these. Quiet. When he finally spoke, the words scared Marcelo. ''You look scared though, how am I suppose to relax if you're looking terrified?''

''I don't-''

''Marce, pay attention please!'' Zizou called out, frowning threateningly to put more emphasis behind his words. He never needed to tell them anything twice. If Zizou spoke, you listened. Mostly because they all respected him so much. He had been the idol of many players when they had been young. Although it must be weird for Sergio, considering he had actually played with Zizou for a year and was now forced to listen to his orders.

''Sorry Zizou,'' Marcelo conceded, lowering his eyes.  
''It's all right, I know you get distracted, just try to keep your eyes on me,'' Zizou said kindly. That was what made him such a great manager, he truly knew all his players so well. He knew how to handle them. He learned exactly which ones needed a firm hand, which ones pretty much went their own way and which players needed a lot of guidance and support. And he didn't only invest in his starters, he was also familiar with all of the guys on the bench and even the Castilla players.

He was not wrong either, Marcelo did get distracted super easily. Hearing a pin drop could totally blow his concentration and he could never sit still, not even for a second. He continuously grew restless. Today even more so than on ordinary days. He was feeling strangely hollow today, empty, unhinged. As if someone had scooped his heart out of his chest with a wooden spoon.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, completely disregarding Zizou's no phone rule during his speeches. It was a text from Iker, wishing him good luck, telling him that they would be fine.  
He typed a muffled ''Thank you,'' back and tried to recapture his focus. He noticed the silence and when he looked up he saw that everyone was gaping at him. Zizou was looking at him as if he was a kid that had done something bad. ''You know the rules: hand it over,'' he said calmly as he extended his hand. Marcelo reluctantly, feeling awfully embarrassed handing Zizou his phone. ''Sorry,''

''Hm hm, I know,'' Zizou hummed, placing the phone in his back pocket. He continued his pep talk and Marcelo was hanging on his lips right now, not too keen to get himself in trouble again. During the warming up he still felt so detached from the rest of his teammates. So on edge. He even missed a couple of balls that Casemiro shot to him, too preoccupied to notice them.  
One nearly hitting him in the face. Casemiro came over and nudged his arm. ''You okay dude? You've been acting _weird_ all night?'' he said, putting a lot of emphasis on the word weird.   
''Fine Case,''

''Look I don't know what's going on with you but you need to get your shit together! You're Salah's guard! You can't fucking walk that pitch daydreaming! You have to focus and get your head out of your ass. If you cost us this win I'm gonna fucking smack you hard,'' Casemiro threatened.  
Marcelo smirked wide.  
He loved Casemiro so much. This was exactly what he meant when he stated in that interview that Casemiro had saved his life. He was the one who had the power to bring him back down to earth when things got rough.  
Knowing that Marcelo could be so captured by his own mind that he occasionally got trapped inside of his own mind. At times like that he needed a firm hand. Needed a little kick in his ass. Tiago Silva did that too sometimes when they played together for Brazil. 

And of course, Pepe did that to him all the time when he had still been around since he left Case did it for him. His eyes turned foggy at the thought of Pepe and he quickly forced him out of his mind. He couldn't think about him now. He had to concentrate.

''I _won't_ fuck up,'' he told Casemiro. ''You better not!''  
After the warm-up, they went back to the dressing room and changed into their kits. In the tunnel the atmosphere was tense. Cris tried to make eye contact with Salah but the Egyptian either ignored him or missed it accidentally.

The game started rather cautiously. Neither team wanting to expose too much of themselves or take too much risk.  
It was a bit like a chess game. Most finals were like that. A constant blur of moves and countermoves as the teams tested each other slowly. Luka threw himself bravely in front of a hard shot in the fifth minute and got the ball hard on his thigh. That would be blue tomorrow, but Marcelo could massage it out for him. Seeing Luka come undone during a massage was one of his favourite things in the world. 

Sergio and Salah got into a wrestling duel that brought both of them to the ground. Salah, however, remained on the grass, crying out in pain. It looked as if he had dislocated his shoulder. He tried to play on but had to leave the pitch, bawling his eyes out. Marcelo felt sorry for him. He admired the brilliant Egyptian with all his heart. He hoped that he could still go to the world cup.

He couldn't imagine what it would feel like if this would happen to him if he couldn't play for Brazil. To Marcelo that was the highest honour in the world, to put on that jersey. To represent his beloved country, to feel the undying love from his people.

Five minutes later it was Dani who went to the ground bawling his eyes out because he felt his hamstring giving out on him again. Marcelo rushed over to see what was going on and instantly realized it was bad. Dani wasn't a baby, if he was crying like this it was serious. It meant the end of his game and possibly no world cup for him. Marcelo didn't think he had ever pitied anyone this much.  
This was now the second time that this had happened to Dani in a final.  
The last time it cost him the Euros.

This could not be happening to him, not to Dani. Not _again_. Cris was by his side the entire time, comforting him, soothing him the best he knew how. Cris knew what this was like, seeing how he had been forced to miss Portugal's final too due to an injury during the game. Marcelo's heart broke for Dani.  
As Dani stumbled off the pitch, shuddering and shaking, Nacho came on, looking equally pitiful.  
He and Dani were closer than brothers. Marcelo knew that he wanted to run over to Dani to give him a hug but he couldn't, Dani was on the other side of the pitch and Nacho had to quickly take his place.  
After Dani's injury, the game felt a bit apprehensive, both teams clearly affected by seeing their teammates so upset.

Not much happened before halftime and when they went back to the dressing room they found Dani sitting there with the doctors, lying face down on the bench, sobbing. Everyone came over to him to give him support and love, but nothing could console Dani, not even Nacho.

When they stood in the tunnel for the second half, Marcelo lined up in front of Luka, wanting him closer. Luka leaned in and closed his arms around his shoulders, rubbing them briefly before releasing him, noticing the camera just in time.  
The media didn't know about them and they liked to keep it that way. Their gestures had to appear innocuous even if they weren't. They had been together for almost two years now, although it felt much longer.

Mateo passed them and hugged both of them tight, although Luka a little tighter as he always did. When the young Croatian first came to the club, Marcelo and Luka hadn't been dating yet. And in the beginning Marcelo did wonder about them, a little bit. If their closeness was just friendly or if there was something going on between the gorgeous blue-eyed Croatian and his Luka.  
He'd been jealous and possessive when he caught the youngster touching Luka constantly, or when he called him in the middle of the night just to talk. Luka loved Marcelo's envy, he ate it up.

Actually, Mateo had been one of the most important elements in bringing them together as a couple. He'd been antsy about Mateo until he showed up at his doorstep one night, telling him to get his shit together and make a move on Luka because Luka wouldn't have the nerve to do so himself. Claiming that Luka wanted to be with Marcelo but that he was afraid of being rejected.  
When Marcelo had inquired about Mateo's feelings for Luka, Mateo had nearly choked on his drink.  
Stating that he loved Luka like a younger brother loved his older one, that he was happy with his girlfriend and had zero interest in Luka. Marcelo believed him. That night he drove to Luka's house and kissed him as soon as Luka had opened the door. Their first kiss. Without Mateo fixing them up, they would have probably danced around each other forever.

Still, Mateo had been wrong about one thing, he and Luka weren't like brothers. Marcelo saw them as a strange father and son combination. Luka was very paternal toward Mateo and didn't behave as an older brother would.  
Whenever Luka was out with an injury and wasn't present at the club, Mateo was looking like a lost baby bird who'd been chucked from the nest too soon. He would cling to Marcelo in those weeks, who didn't mind his presence, it reminded him of Luka. Mateo was, after Nacho, the sweetest kid Marcelo had ever played with. He was their little cupid. Their love child, as Sergio always called him.  
Marcelo was very fond of him.

Nacho stood in front of him and glared backwards to check where Sergio was, seeing how the referee had called everyone back to the pitch. Sergio was always the last one out the dressing room, that being part of his superstition. Nacho wasn't looking well. His eyes were sad, hollow and unfocused. Marcelo knew that his heart was weeping for Dani.  
He hung back when Sergio finally appeared and lead them onto the pitch and grabbed ahold of Nacho's arm. ''We're all sad about Dani okay, but I need you to get it together. Please, he wouldn't want you to mess it up,''

Nacho shot him a tiny smile. ''You're a good captain,''  
''Your captain is already on the pitch,'' Marcelo reminded him, referring to Sergio.  
''Maybe, but you're better with us. More patient. Like Pepe was,''

Hearing Pepe's name was like taking a bullet. Marcelo felt his insides turn to ice as he swallowed. ''Vamos Nachito, we're late,''  
The second half was better. Karim scored the strangest goal ever in a Champions League final, making a total fool out of Karius, the Liverpool goalie. All the players and subs stormed off to Karim, but Marcelo went the other way and jumped into Keylor's arms.  
Knowing that goalies were always left out during celebrations and he just wanted to give Keylor some much-needed affection.

But their happiness was short lived because a few minutes later Mane scored because Sergio didn't cover Lovren well and headed the ball to Mane, who was open in front of Keylor's goal. Marcelo should have covered him. Why hadn't he done that? Why were they so _shit_ at defending? When Pepe had been around they had been much stronger defensively, more stable. Not that Rapha was bad at his job, he was amazing, but Sergio could slip up and Marcelo always made about five mistakes per game.

Zizou was gesturing on the sidelines, waving his arms furiously at them. Marcelo didn't need his anger, he was already royally pissed off at himself-and at Sergio. They were both to blame for this goal. They had to score again. He couldn't go into overtime and penalties.  
He knew he seldom missed a penalty, for some reasons Brazilians rarely ever missed, but still, penalties were a lottery. One that he wasn't looking forward to today. No, he wanted to _earn_ this win.

Gareth Bale entered the pitch a while later, and they were doing better offensively within minutes. Losing Salah seemed to have broken Liverpool's spirit.

And then Gareth did the impossible. Marcelo gave him a high ball, as he had given a similar one to Cris against Juventus and Gareth fucking Bale scored a bicycle kick goal, lifting his body high up in the air and smashed the ball behind Karius.  
It was an impossible goal.  
And yet it had happened. In a fucking final. A Zidane like goal. This was like a dream. Everyone went crazy and ran to him, when Marcelo looked to the side he saw Zizou rubbing his head again, in shock, mimicking what he'd done after Cris' goal.

Marcelo stood in the circle of players around Gareth and felt Luka's hand squeezing his for a moment.  
He felt that jolt of happiness surging through his stomach. He would never grow tired of holding Luka, of touching him. He wanted to kiss him, right here on the pitch with the whole world watching and he even contemplated it for a second but Casemiro nudging his side brought him back to earth.

Casemiro, his life saviour. Who always prevented him from doing stupid shit.

Gareth scored another goal, this one a bit more curious, seeing how the poor goalie totally misjudged it and let it slip out of his hands, and at that point, he knew they had won. When the ref blew the whistle for the end, everyone jumped in each other's arms. It felt amazing, to write history once again. To be the first team in 48 years to win 3 consecutive Champions leagues. And yet it felt a little, well strange, almost anticlimactic.  
Something was missing, however, Marcelo just couldn't put his finger on what it was. The sense of emptiness in his stomach kept reoccurring.

He walked over to Dani who was standing on the pitch looking torn between being happy and sad.  
He saw his eyes shine and he embraced him firmly as his own tears flooded freely. ''I'm here okay, fight okay. Now and always,'' Marcelo cried as he rubbed his hand through Dani's short hair. He felt a hand stroke through his curls and saw Zizou smiling at them.

He stood there with Dani for a while and felt familiar arms come around them both. Luka's arms. He held onto them tight and kissed both their hair. Marcelo clung to Luka for dear life. He needed him closer. He saw Karius laying in the grass by himself, being ignored by his own teammates as he cried his eyes out. He pitied him. How could his own friends let him lay there by himself?  
Yes he had made mistakes, and they had cost them the game, but still, Marcelo couldn't stand seeing someone so upset. Neither could Nacho apparently, who was the first person who stepped toward the German and consoled him.  
Took him in his arms as he sobbed.

Marcelo overwhelmed with pity, reluctantly untangled himself out of the hug and made his way over to Karius. Nacho was soothing him in German that he had learned from Toni.  
Nacho was good at languages, smart. He had always paid attention when Mesut and Sami had still been around. Marcelo didn't speak German, but football had a universal language that surmounted everything.

He held the distraught German in his arms and patted his head. ''I'm sorry,'' he whispered in English. The one language he did speak a little, after Portuguese and Spanish.  
''Me too,'' the goalie retorted, voice hoarse and laced with emptiness.  
Marcelo wanted to say that it wasn't his fault, but he knew that Karius would never believe him, mostly because it had been his fault. Two goals were scored due to his mistakes, usually, goals were created due to bad defending but Karim and Gareth's goals had been solely Karius' own fault.

Besides, he knew from his own personal experience with Iker, that goalies processed their grieve by themselves.  
If Iker made a huge mistake he tended to get very withdrawn and detached from the team too. He couldn't stand to be around anyone at those times, not even Sergio. Not that Sergio ever listened to that.  
He would show up at Iker's house anyway, forcing him not to starve himself to death.

After they had held up their 13th CL trophy and celebrated on the pitch until their voices were raw from screaming they went back to the dressing room. The mood was ecstatic and lighthearted and yet Marcelo felt that knot remain in his gut. What was wrong with him? Iker and Pepe had sent him text messages with congratulations and he smiled at that.

Luka slid in the vacant seat to his left and pecked his forehead lightly. ''I have a surprise for you,'' he said, eyes gleaming.  
Marcelo sighed, knowing that Luka's surprises usually weren't any good. He was about as original and creative as a pencil sharpener. ''What is it?''

Luka held up his phone, a familiar face popping up through FaceTime. It was Pepe. ''Marce!!!'' he shouted, as he was waving.

Marcelo's heart leapt up instantly. Suddenly he knew precisely what had been wrong with him all day. He was missing Pepe. How had he not realized that earlier?  
This was the first CL they had won without Pepe. He and Pepe had always done everything together.  
For ten years they'd been literally joined to the hip.  
Arriving at Real in the same year, they had depended on each other. Clung together. Pepe had been his best friend.  
The one he trusted more than anyone else on the planet.

Seeing Pepe's face again created a tidal wave of memories that eroded over him and before he could stop himself he burst out into tears. ''Hey what's the matter?'' Pepe chimed. Luka curled his arm around Marcelo and kissed his cheek again, a lot deeper this time. ''He's been missing you, a lot,'' he told Pepe.

''Christ, I know. I miss him too. Marce, look at me,''  
Marcelo looked up at the phone and pursed his quivering lips together. ''It's okay to miss me, I'm happy here but it's not the same without you. I miss my best friend,'' Pepe suppressed a tear and shook his head furiously. Always trying to be strong.

''I wanna see you,'' Marcelo stated, voice wobbly and wafer thin.  
''You will, I'm catching a plane to Madrid in an hour. I'm at the airport right now,''  
''You are?''  
''Yeah, look,'' Pepe turned the phone to the gate A sign above him. A woman's voice was stating something vague over the PDA.

Marcelo felt a weight being lifted off of his chest. ''I'm so glad you're coming, I haven't seen you in months,''  
''I know, it's been too long. How is everyone doing?''

''Great, you wanna say hi?''  
''Hell yeah!''  
Marcelo turned the phone and whistled on his fingers, the noise surrounding him died down immediately. ''Hey everyone, Pepe wants to say hi!''

Everyone gathered around Marcelo and waved at the phone. Sergio put his own iPhone down, seeing how he had been talking to Iker again. ''Pepito!!!'' he shouted, being so loud that Nacho was covering his ears. Marco jumped up startled. ''Dude, seriously? They can hear you screaming in Seville,''  
''Shut up, how have you been Pep?'' Sergio wanted to know.  
''Great, I really miss you guys though. It was a great game. I'm flying to Madrid tonight. I wanna see you all,''

Isco and Marco gave each other a high five at that and cheered like little girls. Everyone gathered around Luka's phone to say hello. When Pepe was done with the group, he turned his focus back to Marcelo. ''I'll land in the middle of the night so I'm just gonna take a taxi to your place okay? Or are you staying in Luka's house tonight?''

''No, we're going to my place. You'll probably beat us there,''  
''I definitely will. You're not doing the Cibeles run tonight are you?''  
''No, it's tomorrow afternoon,''  
''Oh good, plenty of time to catch up then,''  
''Yep and also no worries about drunk Luka tumbling off the bus again,'' Marcelo smirked mischievously. Luka stomped his arm, affronted. ''Thank you, you're the sweetest,''  
''Well to be fair we all know the only reason you're alive right now is because of Fabio,'' Pepe added. ''Damn you two, gaining up on me again, it's like you never left Pep,'' Luka complained.

Pepe grimaced. ''But I _did_ leave, unfortunately,''  
Marcelo frowned at his best friend and exhaled deep. ''Yes you did,''  
''He's been sulking ever since you've been gone,'' Luka told Pepe. ''That's not true!'' now it was Marcelo's turn to feel cornered.  
''Yes it is, it's not a bad thing. I would feel like that if I would lose my best friend too. I don't blame you,''  
''Jesus Lukita, you're embarrassing me,'' Marcelo groaned.

''Leave him be,'' Pepe intervened sharply. ''Luka loves you. And to be fair: we were kind of gaining up on him. Anyway, I have to board now, I'll see you guys tonight okay?''  
''Yeah, fly safe,'' Marcelo mumbled.  
Pepe nodded. ''You too, see you. Ciao!'' the screen went dark and Luka placed his phone back into his pocket.

When they arrived in Madrid after a very long night, it was nearly three in the morning. Isco and Sergio had been singing songs all the way home but Marcelo had grabbed Luka and joined the mile high club for the first time in his life.  
How they had managed in a toilet that small was beyond his understanding but somehow they had made it work. It was doable if you sat down and the other was on your lap.  
But it wasn't easy and it felt really cramped. Still, they had both been horny as hell and were too impatient to wait until they got home.

When they landed at Barajas everyone said goodbye to one another and scattered off. Marcelo drove Luka home in his car and when he pulled up the driveway he noticed that the lights were on in his house. Pepe had beat them to it, as he had promised them.  
Marcelo literally ran inside without waiting on Luka and saw Pepe sitting at his kitchen table with his dogs laying at his feet.

His hair was longer than before and a wide grin spread over his face when he saw Marcelo. Marcelo leapt into Pepe's arms and buried his face deep against Pepe's sturdy, secure chest. He held onto Marcelo for dear life as his hand rummaged through his curls.  
Luka joined in and held onto them in their three-way hug and kissed both of their cheeks. Tears were flowing, laughter was erupting into the air.

Marcelo had everything he wanted in the world. He was standing in the safe arms of the man he loved and his best friend. He was home.

 

 

 

 

 

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> Aww how sad was Karius, honestly? I hate when people around me say it was match fixing and that he was paid to help us out. Like have you seen his grief? No way he was faking that. Goalies make mistakes too. 
> 
> I was so happy to see Nacho comforting him. He's a good boy.  
> I hope you guys liked this. I always wanna see more Lukcelo in the world. Let me know what you thought about it please?  
> Don't be shy. I love to hear your thoughts.


End file.
